


building my rain up in the cloud

by belikebumblebee



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 22:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11609886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belikebumblebee/pseuds/belikebumblebee
Summary: Some things are easiest to talk about when it's night, and the world outside seems to move more slowly. And when there's tea and ice cream - well, all the better.





	building my rain up in the cloud

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: this is a lot more Waverly & Wynonna than it is Waverly/Nicole. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

At night, the homestead stands still and dark and lonely.

Waverly wishes she could reach out for the hills and the trees sometimes, pull them closer like blankets to better hear the wind in the bushes and tree tops. This was different when she was little; Waverly remembers breaking glass and voices, always voices, but she remembers laughter, too – and when she got older, she lived closer to town.

From her room in the McCready house, she could see the streetlights just about half a mile away, and the illuminated clock face of the church spire. There was a street nearby, and on Saturday nights, there was always the sound of cars rushing by, young men whooping and honking.

(Later, there was a time when she was in the midst of all that, steering Champ’s truck while he leaned out the window to holler at his buddies in the other cars, or reach over to slap the horn, or tell her to drive faster.)  

The homestead feels more like _home_ every day, but Waverly has yet to get used to the quiet nights.

“Can’t sleep?”

Waverly almost drops the mug of hot tea she just made for herself. “Shit on a stick, Wynonna.” She leans against the fridge.  

“Sorry.” Her sister is lying on her bed, with her head hanging off the side of it, and her legs propped up on what looks like a small mountain of pillows. “Don’t judge. It’s comfortable.”

Waverly raises the hand not holding her mug. “Not judging.”

Patting the mattress next to her, Wynonna gives her a small smile. “Wanna hang out?”

She’s different tonight, softer, like she sometimes is when they’re alone in this house. Like she left her attitude hanging over a chair somewhere. There’s an ugly little part of Waverly that wishes she had discovered this ability earlier, like say when she was eighteen and leaving. There’s an even uglier part that remembers this softer Wynonna sinking into Willa’s arms like Waverly had just been a poor placeholder for the more dependable sister. And how had that turned out for her?

The moment of bitterness passes as quickly as it comes, and all it leaves behind is a feeling like being twelve again, wishing for Wynonna to come back and give her a hug.

“Yeah,” Waverly sighs, “I can’t sleep anyway.”

“Awesome. Bring the ice cream?”

“Rocky Road or Mint Chocolate Chip?”

“I said bring _the_ ice cream, not _some_ of the ice cream.”

Wynonna changes her position to give Waverly space on the bed, and makes grabby hands at the short stack of half-empty ice cream tubs she’s bringing over. She takes them too quickly, and the spoon balanced on top slides off, comically bounces off her protruding belly.

“Sorry; you okay?” Waverly asks as she settles down, placing her mug of tea on the bedside table.

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “It’s a _spoon_ , Waverly. I’m not made of glass.”

“Jeez, I was just asking. I don’t know anything about pregnant people.”

It’s not a good thing to say, and Waverly regrets it when Wynonna hides her face behind her hair and starts poking around in her ice cream. “Yeah, me neither.”

“Hey.” Waverly gently nudges Wynonna’s shoulder with her foot. “You’re a badass with a demon-killing gun. If you can handle revenants, you can handle this. And I’m an excellent researcher, remember? We will figure all of this out together. You know we will.”

“Yeah, well, killing people who were never really alive to begin with _might_ not be the same thing as fucking up a brand new life or whatever. Anyway.” Wynonna gives her a subdued smile and a nod, clearing her throat. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? Literally anything else.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment. _Remind me to research when it’s considered supportive to push and when it isn’t,_ Waverly thinks, and hopes that Wynonna already knows what she wants to say. She tries to come up with a different topic to talk about, but Wynonna is faster.

“How are things with you and ginger snap?”

With the mention of Nicole come flashes of her breath by her ear, her smile in the morning sun, and a warm, weightless feeling gathering in the pit of Waverly’s stomach.

“They’re good.” She lets herself sink to the side, against Wynonna’s pillow tower footrest. “When she kisses me, I…” She catches herself and shoots Wynonna an apologetic grimace, flushing. “Sorry. Things are good.”

Wynonna flicks her fingers against Waverly’s toes. “No, dude, come on. I know I tease you, but that’s like, my job. Gotta keep my baby sister’s lover in line. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to know shit, okay?”

Leave it to Wynonna to make the expletive sound soft and the word _lover_ sound ridiculous.

Waverly lets her head roll back. There’s a spot on the ceiling where they didn’t paint it properly in their haste to move in last fall; she really should fix that up when she gets around to it. She listens for the sound of wood creaking or winds howling, but the house is stubbornly silent, like it’s waiting for her to continue just as expectantly as Wynonna is.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before.”

Wynonna shrugs, but her voice is gentle. “You love her.”

The cornice running along the edges of the room is old and dented in some places, but it’s genuine stucco, not styrofoam, so it was easier to leave it. And anyway, Wynonna likes it; likes having things about the house the way she remembers them. Waverly likes her Cowgirl key rack, and the picture of Shorty on the wall, and the new bed Nicole helped her assemble.

(Her shirt rode up a bit at the back when she was crouching on the floor studying the instructions, and Waverly had to stop and stare at that bit of exposed skin and spine for a moment, wondering how such a small piece of a person could be so _dear_ to her.)

Waverly takes a breath, not taking her eyes off the ceiling. “What I mean is, I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified.”

She startles when a comforting hand wraps around her ankle, then settles down again. Wynonna smiles at her, encouraging. “Of what, baby girl?”

Nicole, flying back into the wall.

Nicole, turning away from her kiss.

Nicole, saying _I like you, too_.  

“You know when someone says ‘don’t look down’, and you weren’t _thinking_ of looking down until now, but suddenly you’re super aware that you’re ropewalking across a canyon and while it’s totally amazing, you will definitely die a horrible death if you fall and you realize that you’re probably insane for doing this?”

“Ugh, _hate_ when that happens.”

“Shut up.” With a groan, Waverly kicks at Wynonna’s hand, but she just laughs and doesn’t let go. They struggle for a moment, like when they were kids; Waverly trying to get rid of Wynonna’s hand, Wynonna holding on with both hands. It ends when Wynonna wrestles a sock off Waverly’s foot and throws it away; it lands somewhere on the kitchen floor.

She whines. “Now my foot is cold.”

“Ugh, you’re a big baby.” Halfheartedly, Wynonna takes a corner of the blanket and throws it over Waverly’s one exposed foot. “Is it true you sleep with four blankets?”

“Yes. Well, four and an extra blanket, in case it gets colder overnight. Why?”

“Your strawberry candy cane of a girlfriend mentioned it.”

Waverly rolls her eyes. “Are you going to keep referring to Nicole by various types of sweets?”

“Yes. It’s my new thing.” Having finished her Rocky Road, Wynonna puts the lid back on and throws the whole container at the trashcan across the room. They watch it hit the rim and brace themselves; it tilts over, almost comically slow, and falls into the can.

Wynonna makes a victorious gesture and then turns back to Waverly. Her expression softens again.

“Listen, Waves, feelings are scary. Trust me, I know that. But Nicole loves you. And I don’t want you to deprive yourself of good things just because you can’t get your act together, okay? You leave that part to me.”

Her eyes jump back and forth between Waverly’s as she holds her gaze. _Nicole loves you_ and _your girlfriend mentioned it_ echo in the back of her mind, blending and blurring together like overlapping circles of waves in a pond. _Nicole loves you. Nicole loves you._ As desperately as she wants to ask Wynonna if Nicole said anything to her, she holds her tongue.

“I want you to have good things, too, you know,” she says instead. 

Wynonna plunges her spoon into the half-molten Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream. “Yeah, well.” She pats her belly with her other hand. “Baby steps.”

Waverly laughs, and finally remembers to drink her tea. It’s lukewarm by now, but still it tastes good.

“Your girlfriend is adorable when she’s drunk, by the way. A real _treat_.”

“That was terrible,” Waverly admonishes, but she can’t help but think back.

(Nicole spent the ride in the backseat of her own cruiser. _It’s probably good that I’m sitting back here, you guys_ , she said very loudly, _because this is where people should sit when they have to sober up. It’s a very... sobering place. To sit in._ A pause. _Your hair smells like strawberries, Waverly._ And then: _‘m_ s _orry the strippers glittered you._ )

Waverly snorts, smiling fondly at the memory. “You just had to get her wasted, didn’t you?”

“What can I say?” Wynonna raises her shoulders dramatically, “It’s the Earp way.”

Realizing what she’s just said, she winces and closes her eyes. “Shit.” She says, drawing out the _sh_. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine,” Waverly interrupts her. She can feel it rising in her chest like yeast dough, the feeling that comes with the thought of not being an Earp – panic and bitterness and anger and something else, too – and she hurries to push it down. Not tonight. “I know what you meant.”

They don’t look at each other, and stay quiet for a moment. Waverly notices that it started to rain at some point in the last few minutes. Finally, there is the steady drum of raindrops on the window planes, and if she listens hard enough, the wet rustle of the leaves in the distance.

(Maybe she will text Nicole and ask her to come over after her shift, even if it’s late, even if she’s tired, so they can curl up together upstairs. Nicole will fall asleep, exhausted from work, and Waverly imagines running her fingertips over the dips and bumps of Nicole’s spine while the rain patters down on the roof above them.)

Feeling a little steadier, she takes a noise sip of her tea.

“So,” she starts. “When are you going to tell Gus?”

For that, Wynonna throws her other sock into the trash can.


End file.
